Classic Poem

Where are the swallows fled?
—Frozen and dead
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.
—O doubting heart!
Far over purple seas
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.

Why must the flowers die?
—Prisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
—O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

The sun has hid its rays
—These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
—O doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky
That soon (for spring is nigh),
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

Fair hope is dead, and light
—Is quenched in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
—O doubting heart!
The sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels' silver voices stir the air.